


One, Two, Three, Four

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's reactions are at Arthur's fingertips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three, Four

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: fingering very nearly becomes fisting.
> 
> Written for Hermette one day months ago when she wanted Merlin/Arthur, fingering, and didn't care who was getting it.

Arthur likes the control of this. He likes that all of Merlin's wildness and misplaced, off-target, oblique movements and his restless energy can be subsumed into the long limber roll of his muscles as he lies face-down, hands dragging in the sheets, and Arthur brings him off just like this, just with his fingers.

Later there will be time for other, more energetic pursuits, but at this moment the air is still and heavy, and the bedclothes are wet with sweat. Arthur came in from a long morning of training to find Merlin, as per the orders given to him breathlessly and half-in-jest by Arthur last night, naked on the bed, not touching his cock. That was the rule.

 _'Don't touch it,'_ Arthur had said. _'Save it for me.'_ And Merlin was, but he'd taken the specificity of the instruction to mean he was allowed to touch elsewhere, and so Arthur had walked in on the spectacle of Merlin, one arm crooked up cruelly tight, trying to fuck himself upon his fingers.

Arthur's gambeson and hose had never found themselves discarded so fast. And then Arthur was on the bed, gently drawing Merlin's hand down and out and away and whispering to him, 'Do you want me to forbid you from this as well? You know you can't do it nearly so well as I can for you.'

Merlin probably meant his retort to be wittier and less of a desperate moan, and Arthur has no doubt he'll feel the edge of Merlin's tongue sharply when they're done here, but a desperate moan it was nonetheless, and so Arthur took advantage of Merlin's speechlessness.

One of Arthur's fingers goes in easily, softly, thanks to Merlin's earlier attempts and a goodly quantity of fine oil. Arthur slides it in firmly, one joint, then the next, until he can feel the smooth insides of Merlin push against it. Then out, a sucking feeling growing in its wake, and Arthur presses a second finger in with it.

Two is tighter, more effort and gentleness needed to push it in, and Merlin's body trembles in the way that tells Arthur he needs to be careful here, so two is slow like treacle running in strings from a spoon, softly. Arthur just works them shallowly, to the first joint only, until Merlin is pushing back into it, and then, by tiny increments, Arthur gets to the second joint, and oh, he wants, he wants so badly now to spread and stretch and feel around for the place that makes Merlin's skin flush and his heart race, but the tension is still too high in Merlin's flesh and bones.

So instead he draws out, pushes in, starts up a steady tidal roll with it, and once Merlin has settled into that rhythm like a metronome, Arthur presses the third finger up against the first two, adds yet more sweet oil, and pushes once again.

Merlin lets out a juddering moan and spreads his legs further, grinding his knees down for purchase on the mattress, which gives Arthur an idea. He moulds his other hand about Merlin's hipbone and urges him up, up onto his knees. Merlin's lower back dips and arches like a dancer's, with Arthur's free hand to soothe patterns over the skin, and Merlin wants it, clearly, so the three fingers Arthur has starting their entrance go steady and strong into him as he moans into the pillow.

Arthur can twist now, gently - there is enough give. And he can almost pull the fingers apart, at least enough to make Merlin feel some stretch. And he can seek, and find, the spot that makes Merlin shudder and roil, and chase it with all three fingertips.

Arthur settles in, into the smoothness and the rhythm and the desperate feel of Merlin under his hands, his own pleasure served by nothing better than the knowledge of what he does to his lover, until he realises that Merlin is speaking, mumbling, into the pillow.

'More,' he says, thickly and indistinctly. 'Please, Arthur, I need ... I need more.'

'How?' Arthur asks, stilling his hand. 'Harder? Faster? My cock, my tongue?' All things they've done before.

'Another ... another finger, _please_ ,' Merlin hisses, and Arthur can see the blush that paints his pale face crimson before he turns it away again.

Four fingers is unspeakably tight, feels invasive to Arthur, but Merlin seems to relish it, and no matter how gentle Arthur tries to be it seems to touch every nerve Merlin has with every push - he cries out his dizzy, painful lust over and over, with moans and whimpers and broken gasps. And yet he still struggles back into it, rather than running away.

Almost in awe, Arthur runs his thumb along where Merlin is gaping wide around him, and the noise Merlin makes is obscene and delicious, and Arthur, very conscious of his own arousal, feels his cock twitch hard at that reaction and knows he can come untouched if only he hears that again and again.

So he touches once more, nudges that delicate ring of tissue with his thumb and with the fingers of his other hand and with his tongue, and Merlin moans and moans, and pushes and pushes, and whimpers 'more' through bitten lips until Arthur succumbs to curiosity and adds more oil, til the bottle is empty, and encloses his thumb within the four fingers already slick and wet with Merlin, and pushes one more time.

He gets to just before the thickest part of his hand before Merlin mewls, scrabbles frantically in the bedclothes and then comes with an animal sound, the guttural intensity of his noise triggering Arthur, his hand trapped and squeezed within Merlin's body and his release painting the backs of Merlin's thighs and arse and his own wrists.

They slump together on the ruined sheets after Arthur has carefully extricated himself, but he can't seem to stop playing, feather-gently, with the mess he's made of Merlin's backside.

'Tomorrow,' Merlin says sleepily, drawing Arthur's wet hands away from there and snuggling back against him. 'Tomorrow you can wake me up with your cock inside me, still all stretched and open for you. But right now, we need to sleep.'

Arthur's slumbers come so fast he doesn't have time to argue. His dreams are all of Merlin.


End file.
